


Popping the Cork

by KylaraIngress



Series: Traditions, Old & New [3]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: First Time, Holidays, Humor, M/M, POV First Person, leap home AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3081431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KylaraIngress/pseuds/KylaraIngress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Al celebrate New Year's Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Popping the Cork

**Author's Note:**

> written in January 2002 (finished February 19, 2002) and put up as part of Throwback Thursdays.

**December 31:**

I had just put the final spices on the baked chicken when I heard a loud _THUMP, THUMP, THUMP_ at the front door.

"Just a minute," I yelled over my shoulder as I opened up the oven. Shoving the glassware on the top wire rack, I gently kicked it closed as I washed my hands in the sink.

Wondering who was here, I jogged into the living room. I opened the door and was surprised to see Sam there, arms loaded with bags, leg ready to kick the door yet again.

"Sorry," he said. "Couldn't get the door myself."

"Let me get some of that," I chastised, bringing out my hands to grab something.

"No!" he said, taking a step back. Giving me a chagrined smile, he continued, "It's a surprise."

"Ah," I said, giving him my arched eyebrow look. "Well, do I at least get my hello kiss?"

"Of course," he said, leaning in. I gotta admit, I'm still a little in shock about this whole thing. Sam. Me. Together. But as I readily complied and tasted those sugar-sweet lips of his, I knew that I couldn't be happier about it.

I pulled away before it got too hot and heavy – those bags of his looked full – and with a pat on his ass, I announced, "Dinner will be ready in about an hour."

"Good. Plenty of time to hide these from you," he grinned, starting to walk down the hall to his room. "I've got a couple of items I want to hide in the kitchen, too."

"You know I'm not fond of surprises, kid," I warned.

"Oh, don't worry," he said over his shoulder. "You'll like this one. It's for tonight."

Ah. New Year's Eve. As I waited for him to hide the items from me, I thought about what we had decided for the holiday. Since he was still leery with even the project staff (hard, after all, to have a conversation with a person you're supposed to know well who didn't exist in the original timeline), and since we were still feeling out (pun intended) this relationship of ours, we had turned down the invite to Tina & Gooshie's party and opted to stay home.

Home. His and mine. He had taken up my offer of living together without question, but I didn't really have any doubts about it. When he had fulfilled my wish by returning my interest, I knew I was set. After all, this was Sam Beckett we were talking about. When he fell in love, he fell completely.

That's why I was makin' him dad's stew that night. I could tell he knew it was a special thing just for him, but God bless him, he didn't ask – waiting for me to tell him in my own time. I remember when dad made it, how he talked about how stew was such a good symbol of family, for each family had their own way of making it. In this timeline, I had only made that stew for someone three times. Once was the night I proposed to Beth. The second was the night I told Ruthie I loved her. And the third was that night I invited Sam to live with me. Each one, a time I let someone into my heart, into my family.

I shook myself, realizing Sam was long gone and I was just standing there in the living room, staring at the wall, and moved back into the kitchen to work on the rest of dinner.

As I started chopping the carrots, I let my thought wander back to that night of decorating the tree. We had just stayed to the kissing then, too. Although that time, it was major kissing – and a little groping, too. But again, I had pulled away – I had made sure we didn't go too far.

Surprised? Believe it or not, I don't let my libido lead me. A lot of those stories on the leaps (in any timeline) were just that – stories. Ways to distract Sam, cheer him up, make him realize it was just a leap.

And . . . I was scared. Not, as you may assume, about the whole homoerotic content of our relationship. That part only worried me a bit, since I had been intimate with another man. It was only back in 'Nam (both by force and by choice), but it made me unworried in that regard. No, what scared me was a lot bigger than that, and Sam would probably tell me it was a lot more superstitious.

You see, everyone I had touched had left me. In this timeline, both Beth and Ruthie had died way before their time. And Tina . . . I guess Tina couldn't help but notice who I was truly in love with. I really couldn't blame her for shackin' up with Gooshie.

I was afraid . . . afraid that if I let this relationship happen, Sam would fall under the Calavicci Curse and leave, too. Death, leaping, Donna . . . they were all the same to me; possible forces to steal him away.

I set aside the carrots, the time not quite ready for cooking them yet, and went onto my next task, the biscuits, and thought about his leaping. Even though he was home, the project still existed. And who's to say he wouldn't leap again? Who's to say he wasn't truly home, but on another leap? Even though he swore he was done, every once in a while when reading about the news of the past five years, I could see something in his eye that said part of him was wishing he was still out there, still able to change things. What's to say some time he wouldn't do just that?

And Donna – even though she was no longer a part of our lives, she was still out there, still unmarried (I looked it up when he first leaped home). I know Sam said he was glad they never married, but would he say the same if he ever ran across her? After all, she was a fellow scientist – the odds were in favor of their paths crossing. Yeah, when Sam falls in love, he falls completely – but that just means if he felt something for someone else, he'd rather break up than cheat. Memories can be strong things – the memory of Beth (in that first timeline) had been powerful enough to make me marry four more times in search of a replacement.

So, I was quite happy to leave it at the necking sessions. Hell, he still had his own room! That, after all, was the safe thing to do. And Sam seemed comfortable enough with our current level of intimacy.

I set aside the biscuits, ready to cook as well, and let my thoughts now wander to what his big surprise for tonight was. I wasn't too worried – if he said it was something I'd like, it would be.

For Christmas, we had opened our presents in the morning (which included one of Bena's sweaters), and Sam spent the rest of the day on the phone with family. He had said he wasn't quite ready to face them in person yet, especially with the brood he now had. Katie was on her second marriage, with a total of three kids (one came with the husband), and Tom and his wife (yes, happy on the farm) had two and one on the way. Good ol' Thelma was also still alive and kickin', and she stayed on the farm with Tom.

But part of me had wondered how much of his decision to not go down also had to do with me and our new 'development'. I readily admit, I haven't exactly been spouting our love from the rooftops either. And I always got a hinky feeling the few times I was with his family that they didn't particularly like me. Oh, they tolerated me because of Sam and politeness, but you could tell who they blamed for Sam's change in personality those first few years at StarBright. Yeah, I admit I helped him break out of that shy, nerdy guy he was back then, but he had wanted to do it. He was already starting to try new things (not all of them safe, either) before I came on the scene. But since my introduction to his family took place right around the same time, I guess it did kinda look like I was the cause. So, it was no skin off my nose that we hadn't gone down to Elk Ridge for Christmas – you can imagine what I'm guessin' their reaction to this 'development' will be.

Besides, I had too much fun trying out the DVD player I had bought us for Christmas. We spent the rest of the day watching movies and helping Sam catch up on five year's worth of news and sports.

I heard the back shower turn on and gave a delectable shiver as I imagined Sam in the shower. Now, that I'm guilty of – seeing him naked on a leap. Hell, how do you think this whole thing got started? A few times, it was when he was taking a shower (so I had very good images to supply), and a few others, I had walked in while he was . . . sexually engaged. Which further explained my lack of fear where that was concerned – I had never seen someone more caring, more gentle, more passionate when making love. Although I continued to give him grief about it after that first time, I could easily see why he made a distinction between having sex and making love.

I visualized him in the shower, soaping up his legs, his arms rubbing and caressing, the water hitting his back as he leans over . . . .

I shook myself (yet again) and mentally reprimanded my libido. If it continued along this track for much longer, *I* would need a shower – a cold shower. Then I gulped as I realized what the timer said. Quickly throwing the biscuits in the oven and the carrots in the wok, I went to let Sam know it was almost ready.

After walking back to the restroom, I hesitated at the door. I was still in that awkward stage where I wasn't quite sure about coming into the restroom when he was there. Did I still knock, or was it okay to just barge in unannounced?

As I heard the shower stop, I decided to go in the middle, opening up the door just a crack and tapping lightly on the door. "Sam? You've got about ten minutes."

"Al, you can come in if you want," he said. "It's not like there's anything here you haven't seen."

I cracked the door more, and gave a pleased groan as he was leaned over, drying off his leg, giving me what had to be an intentional view of his ass.

"How did you . . . ."

"Know you took the occasional gander at me during the leaps?" he finished in a semi-imitation of Ziggy. He looked back at me with a grin and a wiggle of his butt. "Because, my friend, you are Al Calavicci, and the day you don't take a chance to peek at a naked form, male or female, aura or no, is the day Steven Segal gets an Oscar for best actor."

I gave the expected laugh at the visual, and said, "I'm not that much of a letch, Sam."

He stood and turned to me with a smile. "It must be that changed neurons thing, then," he said, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "'Cause, *I*, on the other hand, definitely feel like a letch." Before I knew it, he had pulled me close and started kissing me like there was no tomorrow. The feel of his nekkid body next to me was almost more than I could bear. I felt his groin stirring in interest (only to match my own) as his hands proceeded to move down to cup my ass. Suddenly, all my arguments to keep this calm, keep this safe, went right out the window, as he moved his lips to start nipping at my neck and ear. I felt myself surrendering, moving my neck to give him more access, scrunching up my eyes tight in the absolute pleasurable sensations, releasing a satisfied groan in reaction.

I sighed, letting him ravish my neck as if it truly was dinner, and moved my own hands to his ass. Giving a gentle squeeze, I moved my face to start kissing him back.

_BEEP, BEEP, BEEP._

What the . . . .

_BEEP, BEEP, BEEP._

Speaking of dinner . . . . It hit me that it was the timer going off, and I didn't know whether to be thankful to it for stopping us before we went to far, upset at it coming then, or surprised that I had lost track of time that easily. My head cleared and I carefully disentangled myself from him. "Dinner's ready," I gave a regretful sigh. "I'll go get it set up on the table while you get dressed, okay?"

He gave me another quick kiss and said, "Okay, Al. I'll be right there."

I turned away, walking awkwardly back to the kitchen, hoping my lack of attention didn't burn dinner. And in order to have some semblance of control, I willed down the one-eyed monster the only way I knew how.

"Pi equals three point one four one five . . . ."

*****

After Sam got to the dining room, I had managed to set the table and compute pi out to twenty-five digits. Needless to say, I was cool as the proverbial cucumber.

We ate in relative silence, not really talking about the passionate embrace in the bathroom. I smothered a giggle as I thought how it seemed like there were two sets of us, with the other Sam and Al left to their own devices. And if the trouser snake had any say in the matter, we would soon be catching up with that other pair – despite the curse.

As I started to clear the dishes, I decided to try and figure out what exactly Sam had planned. "So, kid, what kind of 'traditions' are we celebrating tonight?"

He grinned and started washing the plates. "Well, whenever I stayed home before, I always rented a movie or two."

"Oh," I said, trying to not let the disappointment be heard. That was the big surprise?

"Well, and drink this," he said, opening up the freezer. So that's where he hid it.

I grabbed the bottle of champagne out of his hand as I gave him a quick kiss, and read the label. "Wow," I said, impressed. "You got good taste."

"Of course," he said in imitation. "I chose you, didn't I?"

I just handed the bottle back, not wanting to get into the mushiness of the moment. "Movies and champagne?" I asked. To lighten the mood, I leered, "So, who gets to pop the cork?"

He blushed profusely, as I knew he would, and used the excuse to put back the bottle to quickly turn away from me. God, does he even realize how fraggin' adorable he is when he blushes? "So, what else did that bag of goodies include?"

He seemed to blush all the more, although I wasn't quite sure, and opened up a nearby cabinet to show a box of his favorite microwave popcorn.

"Okay," I said, grabbing it. "Why don't you go get things set up in the next room, while I get the munchies ready?" And with a swat to his behind, I left him to his devices and started getting the food ready.

*****

I walked into the living room, balancing the bowl of popcorn and the two glasses of soda, and stopped a minute, a hinky feeling telling me there was something more than just popcorn and movies in the air. I looked around, trying to figure it out.

The lights were dimmed and Sam sat on one end of the couch. He seemed fidgety, but maybe it was because this was an opportune time for a cuddlefest and he wasn't quite ready for it.

I gave a pleased sigh as I took him in. Despite his nervousness (or maybe because), he was looking dangerously sexy. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower, and his eyes kept darting from the remote to the cabinet at his side. His polo shirt, a light green that offset and accentuated those eyes, was untucked from those so-tight black jeans, and the collar was thoughtfully open wide, teasing me with that brief glimpse of chest hair. He was fiddling with the remote, and dropped it as he heard my sigh.

"Oh, uh . . . hi, Al," he said, jumping up. "Uh, let me get that," he said, grabbing the bowl of popcorn from me. But, he misjudged the coffee table location, and as he turned back around, he tripped over it, spilling the contents all over the floor, and banging his shin. "OW! Mother . . ." he started to swear.

I just looked at him in amazement, asking, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his leg. "Let me clean this up."

As he started to pick up the popcorn, I decided he could use his help. So, I started to put the sodas on the chest of drawers. "NO! Not there!" he cried, and went to grab the glasses from me. Unfortunately, at his cry, I had picked them up again – and it ended up spilling all over the both of us as he ran into me.

By this time, I had to laugh. "Kid? You got any more things you wanna spill?" I asked, wiping down my now-ruined black silk shirt I was wearin'.

"Oh, God, Al, I'm sorry," he said, trying his best to pat me down. "Here, let me get that." His hands went down, and I gave a yelp as his now sticky and cold hand came in contact with my flesh as he tried getting the shirt off.

"Sam!" I continued to yelp, and pushed him away to get my own shirt off. Unfortunately, that push sent him right back into the coffee table, which he tripped over and landed on, right on his back. The popcorn bowl, which had been in his hand, went flying. "FUCK A DUCK!" he yelled in pain.

Well, at least he wasn't unconscious. And as the bowl came flying back down, bouncing merrily out of the way, I thanked the powers that be that it hadn't been glass.

As we finally sat down, me shirtless, him still fidgety and feeling his head, he suddenly stood, looking desperately around.

"You looking for this?" I asked, holding up the remote.

"NO!" he yelped. Reaching for it, he continued to stutter, "I mean yes . . . uh, I . . . that is . . . I put the wrong movie in."

"There's an order to the movies?" I asked, giving him an odd look.

"Well," he hedged, not quite answering. I admit – that just piqued my interest. So, instead of handing it over, I aimed it at the VCR and pushed play.

"Al . . ." he tried stopping me, but by then, it was too late. He had obviously set it up beforehand, for the movie started right off. The scene started to unfold, showing a badly made set that was supposed to be a battlefield. A soldier (well, an actor in a set of tight, tight fatigues) was laying down, a ketchup stain masquerading as a wound on his bare chest.

"Al, please . . ." Sam said, obviously too flustered to realize he could've walked over to stop it manually.

Another young guy, just as scantily clad, ran up to the first, yelling, "Ryan, Ryan . . . you're DOWN!"

"The only thing going down," said 'Ryan' with a sly grin, "is you!"

"Saving Ryan's Privates?" I read the opening credits aloud in shock, watching as the second soldier – to bad Casio music – started giving 'Ryan' a very good blowjob.

"Uh . . ." Sam babbled. "Al . . . it was a joke, you know, to try and see if you liked it."

I drew my eyes away from the strangely alluring visual (now, 'Ryan's' friend was licking a different part of the anatomy) and I reassessed what was going on. Sam stood looking at me chagrinned, his hands nervously stuck into his pockets as he awaited my response to the movie. I looked again at his outfit, remembering how I had thought he was looking dangerously sexy. I looked back at the room, shrouded in near darkness, remembering his nervousness since the kitchen. I then let my gaze drift back to the obviously gay porn, erotically flickering on the screen, and everything clicked.

Sam was, however badly, trying to seduce me! Worried, no doubt, as to whether *I* was ready for that next step, he was trying to seduce me in what he thought was the Calavicci way – and in true Beckett fashion, was failing miserably. I took the half step necessary to get to his side and gently pulled out his hands. Holding them in much the same way I had when presenting him the key, I softly said, "Sam, calm down."

He blushed even more and tried pulling away from me, but I wasn't gonna have that. I just held tighter, leaving him to strangle out, "Al, I . . . ."

"Shh," I said, pulling him into a gentle hug. I moved my hands to his back and rubbed gently as he fell into it. As I held him in my arms, thinking over everything, I came to a decision. I had lived far too long in this life to be scared shitless by a stupid curse. And I would rather (pardon the bad poetry) love and lose than never love at all. I slowly lowered one hand down to his ass, squeezed gently, and said, "Just let it come naturally."

I felt his back stiffen at the comment, and he pulled far enough away to look into my eyes. "You're not . . . you're not gonna stop?"

Asmy answer, I moved one hand up to his head and pulled him down to me in a harshly urgent kiss. I plunged my tongue in his mouth and ground my hips up against his in wild abandon. He gave a strangled moan in his passion, and crushed me to him in his need. As his lips moved to my cheek, my neck, my ear, he gasped out, "Al, please!"

"What, Sam?" I asked, barely coherent as he continued nibbling on my earlobe, but knowing without a doubt that, curse or no, I would do whatever he asked of me.

"I . . . I have other things I bought for tonight," he said hesitantly.

"Uh huh?" I asked, guessing what he was referring to, but wanting him – needing him to say it.

He led me to the couch, and after he made sure to turn off the porn, he pulled open the top drawer of the cabinet he had been so weird about. I gave a delightful smile as he bashfully showed me a box of condoms and a bottle of cherry-flavored lube.

Looking into his eyes, I asked all my questions in one plea. "Sam?"

"Pop my cork?" he playfully growled, holding out the packages as an offering.

I pulled him into yet another fervent kiss, and felt the box hit my back and the tube of liquid digging into my ass as he tried to kiss the oxygen out of my system.

His mouth moved again to my neck, and I just arched it back in ecstasy, my eyes not capable of opening. I was losing control.

I was losing myself.

And I liked it.

The next thing I knew, we were on the couch, Sam beneath me, clawing at his shirt in his fervor. Somehow, Sam's 'presents' had made their way to the coffee table. I regained control of my emotions, regained control of myself, and looked down at the man who had that much power over me.

He lay on the couch, shirt shed, nipples peaking, chest heaving in passion. His eyes were closed tight, his mouth panting, and he had never looked more desirable.

I bent over him, giving a kiss to his forehead, his nose, and a brief flutter against his lips. And before he had a chance to retaliate, I continued my attentions, moving my lips to the cleft in his chin, trailing my tongue down the mid-section of his neck, moving to his chest.

God, even the few times I had done this with another man, I had never been so turned on. Even . . . even with the women in my life, I had never felt quite such an overwhelming need for someone, to want them so much.

I paused in my ministrations to look at him again, this time in awe. Sam could easily have anyone he wanted, male or female, and he wanted me. If I had any doubts before, the hard organ pushing its way through his pants would've eased 'em.

"Al?" he fairly pleaded, opening his eyes to give me a look. It was partly that lost puppy-dog look he used to get things from me that I had seen way too many times, and partly that wanton and desire-filed look he used on prospective dates that I had never seen directed toward me.

"Just admiring the view," I comforted, silently wincing at the sudden knowledge that he was obviously thinking I was going to pull away – like I had been, every single time we had gotten close to intimacy. "I'm impressed I could do this to you," I added carefully, bringing my hand down to pet the bulge of his desire.

"You've been able to do that to me for quite some time," he admitted just as carefully. "Just . . . just don't stop . . . ."

I moved my hands to his belt, and leisurely unfurled it, playfully growling, "I promise you, the only thing that will make me stop now is you." Slowly pulling the belt out of the loops, I continued in my sexy voice, "You don't want me to stop, do you Sam?" His eyes widened in shocked arousal as I snapped the belt taut, and his mouth opened in a silent gasp as I proceeded to move the doubled-up end gently up his chest. "You like that?" I asked, just as shocked as he appeared to be.

"You can't believe how much," he said. "I . . . I trust you," he continued, softly, as if he just realized it himself. I threw the belt aside, cataloguing his response for later, and moved back to his pants. I snapped the snap, and bit by bit unzipped them, giving a throaty chuckle as I saw he had truly prepared for tonight – I would not have to worry about underwear this time.

"Nice," I said, moving my hands to touch his bared hips, caressing his ass as I slowly lifted him, pushing those black jeans slightly as he arched up in his impatience to help me. I gently pushed him back down as soon as the fabric passed his thighs, moving the pants down his knees, slithering them past his shins, and then had to pause as I realized he still had his shoes on.

I reached back up and gave him a quick kiss of assurance, then moved back down to take care of his footwear. I untied his left and tossed it over my shoulder, and as I started in on the second, I heard him give a chuckle. I stopped and gave him a questioned look.

"Sorry," he said with a smile. "I feel like I'm makin' it with Mr. Rogers."

I looked back over my shoulder to the one shoe, then pulled off the other. "Well, it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood," I joked as I chucked it over my shoulder.

"I always wondered if he and Mr. McFeely had somethin' going on," he laughed in return, but gave a gasp as I completed de-pantsing him in a flourish. He arched up once again as I trailed my fingers up his legs to end at his knees, where I leaned in and gave a teasing kiss to his inner thighs. "Oh, God," he moaned in delirious agony, and I gave a smiling sigh over his fully erect cock, already leaking.

But I ignored it for now, and continued my journey up his body, grinning at his incoherent cries as I lightly nipped at his navel and trailed my tongue up his chest. "Please," he stuttered out, his head reaching up as he attempted to plead with his eyes as well as his voice. "Oh, God, Al, please. I need you."

I climbed back up to his lips and gave him claim to mine. I opened my mouth, took in his tongue, and spent a few glorious moments just kissing the life out of him. Finally, regretfully, I pulled away, sucking on his lower lip just a bit longer. I stood up and – knowing he was watching – undid my pants in a fair imitation of a stripper. Although getting the shoes off proved to be just as much of a challenge for me, I ended up doing the old heel-toe maneuver to slip them off, and I kicked them behind me. I finished getting my pants off, and felt obligated to preen at his wolf whistle at my electric blue silk boxers.

"Sex-y," he drawled out, looking at me up and down.

"I'd like to think so," I scoffed, but pleased nonetheless. After all, it wasn't every day I got complimented by another man – that I wanted it from, that is. I turned around, and after giving him a sultry look over my shoulder, I started slowly slipping the silk down past my butt, stopping every few minutes to tease him.

"Al . . ." he cried plaintively.

"You like the show?" I asked, glancing back to him again.

"More than you know," he said, and boldly moved his hand down to stroke himself. And that was enough incentive for me – I finished with my boxers and returned back to the couch.

"Huh-uh," I said, shaking my head and pulling his hands away, "not quite yet. If you want me, you're gonna have to learn patience."

"Fuck patience," he growled at me, trying to get out of my grasp. "Fuck me!"

I bent down and kissed him again, letting my tongue flick against his in my passion. As I broke away, I said, "You, of all people, should know that the foreplay is just as important as the play."

"Al, please," he whined, running his tongue over his lips to re-wet them. "I need you so bad."

I finally took pity on him and grabbed the lube. And gave him a questioning grin as I re-read the flavor.

"Figured it was appropriate," he sighed. "Cherry for the cherry."

"Clever," I said with a wry smile. I opened the bottle and put a little on my fingers, and ordered, "Turn over, Sam."

"I . . . ."

"I don't care," I stopped his protests. "If you want me to do this, you're going to do it my way."

He looked at me, no doubt to say something more, but must've seen my seriousness, for without another word, he flipped over onto his stomach. His head at his side, he mumbled, "You've done this before?"

"'Nam," I gave as my answer, knowing that would give him as complete of an answer as he needed. I massaged his butt with one hand, while the one coated with lube started rubbing his opening. I could feel him tense, and I moved the unlubricated hand up his back, soothing him. I bent over again, giving him brief kisses, saying, "Sam, you need to calm."

"I know," he sighed, giving a deep breath. "I'm trying to put my Tai Chi to use."

I burst into a laugh at the visual, and reached up to nip at the back of his neck. "Only you would think of something like that."

He laughed and calmed, and sighed again. "And only you would realize that I would need to laugh."

So I calmed him with my hand and my voice, and my other hand snuck back down and teased the entrance to his body. And he gasped as I wedged my finger into that tight, tight area between his cheeks, determined to urge him into relaxing enough for me.

"Oh my God," he cried out as I touched and toyed with him. "Al . . . . Oh, God, more!"

I lubed up my fingers even more, and before he had a chance to tense up again, I pushed a finger in. And was shocked and pleasantly surprised when his reaction was to arch up into it.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," he swore. "I never even imagined it would be like this."

"Just wait," I smiled, pushing my finger in and out and in and out. "It can only get better." And to prove my point, I pushed back in with two fingers this time.

"Oh my God!" he shrieked as I breached him once more. "Oh, fuck!"

"I thought that's what we were doing," I laughed.

As he gave a chuckle, I took that moment to add in a third, stretching him even more.

"Oh my God!" he repeated in a howl as the three fingers entered him.

"You okay?" I asked, concerned, but not stopping my movements, knowing it would only hurt worse if I stopped.

"Yeah," he strangled out. "Hurts a little," he admitted, "but don't stop."

"Okey-dokey," I replied. I continued to stretch him, knowing that he had to adjust to this before I even thought about replacing them. In, out, pant, sweat. He finally seemed to be okay with it, as his shouts started turning more into cries of desire. In, out, tight, so tight. And he started arching into my fingers, mewling with pleasure.

"Oh, God, Al," he panted laboriously. "I can't believe this is really happening."

"You ready for more?" I asked, bringing out my finger to grab the box of condoms.

"Give it to me," he said. "Give me all you have."

I opened the box and got out a condom. After putting it on and covering it with a layer of lube, I straddled his hips. "One last chance, Sam," I clarified.

"Oh, God, Al," he panted, moving his neck in order to look back at me. "I want you so much it hurts. Please, stop teasing me and just fuck me!"

So, without further ado, I parted his cheeks and thrust myself in.

"Oh. My. God!"

Our cries were simultaneous – his at being finally 'popped', mine at my cock being in that tight of an opening, even with the stretching I had done. I sat there, catching my breath a moment, and brought my hands up his back in comfort. As soon as I had a good grip on his sides, I pulled back. And with a loving squeeze to his lower back, I thrust again.

"Fuck a duck!" Believe it or not, that was coming from Sam again, as I thrust even further in. "Oh, God, Al, that feels wonderful!"

So, knowing things were still all right, I repeated the motion, garnering an incoherent moan as I pushed all the way back in. As I finished my thrust, my one leg slipping to the floor, the other leg kneeling in the crack of the couch cushion, I leaned forward a little to give him a slight peck to the back of his neck. And as I made the final commitment to him, I did it in more ways than one, whispering, "I love you, Sam," as if saying it too loud would render this relationship to the curse.

He stiffened his back at my words, his eyes not ready to open yet, no doubt wondering if he had imagined what I said. "Al?"

I pulled back, and continued in that soft voice, "More than anything. I've wanted this for a long time, too, and I never thought you'd respond. In any timeline."

And before there was a chance to get any more mushy, I went back to the main action. I pulled back and thrust again, not stopping my actions this time, continuing ye ol' bingo-bango-bongo, and each time I entered, it was sweeter than before. I felt the intensity rise as I continued to pump. Sam, by this time, was calling on deities even he didn't know, and time marched on as we merged our bodies, our hearts, our souls.

With one last thrust, I found myself howling with release. I immediately fell forward, using what little strength I had in my arms to keep from crushing the body beneath me. As soon as I caught my breath, I pulled back out in order to dispose of the condom, and Sam let out a whimper followed by a moan as my slipping out caused him to jerk with release.

Quickly tossing the condom away, I moved back to the couch. "Sam?" I asked, kneeling by his side and rubbing his back.

"Oh my God," he sighed, eyes still clenched tight. "That was . . . indescribable."

"Good?" I asked needlessly, but still wanting that confirmation.

"Fucking awesome," he joked, finally opening his eyes to look into mine. "I can't believe how good that felt."

I gave him a sweet kiss to his forehead, and said, "I'm glad. Think you can move?"

"Move?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "I don't know about you, but I usually like a little post-coital cuddling, and this couch is too damn small and too damn lumpy."

"Mmm," he mumbled. "I don't know – part of me thinks I should be carried into the bedroom like the virgin I truly am."

"Was," I immediately corrected. "And if you think I can OR will pick your happy ass up – pun definitely intended – you have another thing coming."

He gave a giggle and stretched up, lithe and catlike. As he stood, I helped him up and pulled him into a hug/kiss, letting him know with actions what I felt. "I think it'll be awhile before I have another thing coming," he joked after we broke away.

I massaged his butt and gently pushed him toward the hallway. "Why don't you get settled into my bed," I said. "I'll be back in a moment after I . . . uh . . . clean up the couch."

He turned with a chagrined look at the obvious stain on the furniture, and said, "I guess I had to continue making a mess, huh?"

"Beckett the Slob," I joked. "One of the many reasons I love ya, kid."

He turned to look at me, no doubt surprised at my words yet again. "Uh . . . about that . . . ."

I gave him another gentle shove, and said, "Go get settled into the bed, okay? We'll talk about what I said back there."

"Okay," he said, realizing he wasn't going to get anything out of me right now. As he walked back, I couldn't help but watch – the glow he had lighting up the whole room. And wondered how much of it was because of what we did, and how much because of what I said.

*****

**January 1 – the obligatory morning after segment**

Oh, man, I love sleepin' in. I know – you think that with the Navy as much in my blood as it is, I'd be used to gettin' up early. But I had never enjoyed it, and the hectic quality Sam's leaps had given my life the past few years made me hate it all the more. So, as I felt myself awaken, I just lay there, ready to sleep in and snuggle with Sam.

We had spent the rest of the night talking – about curses, stew, and love. As the new year rolled in, Sam had made the joke that his new year's resolution was to cure me of the Calavicci Curse.

Thoughts of Sam made my morning wood rise even more, and I decided to roll over and start the New Year off right. And woke up completely as my arm hit empty bed. I opened my eyes, giving my morning stretch, wondering what happened to my new lover.

Maybe it was too much. Maybe the thoughts of what we had done last night had finally caught up to him. Maybe my quiet admissions of love and passion in the dark had looked completely crazy in the light of morning. Or maybe . . . I gulped as I thought that maybe he truly had been on a leap, the purpose to get me to admit his feelings for him, and with my acknowledgement of last night, he leaped once more.

I was halfway out of the bed in order to call the project when I smelled it – the scent of waffles drifting into the bedroom. My relief at him just being in the kitchen was replaced by dread. The smell meant Sam was . . . cooking.

Now, you got to understand – I love the guy immensely, warts and all. Which means I can honestly say his cooking sucks. The few times he actually had made a decent meal on the leaps (outside of the infamous Beckett griddle cakes), it was because someone (either myself or one of the leapee's friends) had caught him just in time, and had stood by at every step to make sure it wasn't dead in the water.

I know waffles aren't exactly rocket science in the ways of food, but Sam is one of the few people that think kerosene adds flavor – good flavor. Besides, the realization that I didn't have waffle mix in the house only added to the fear factor.

I started to get up to investigate, when I heard a slight tapping on the door. "Al, you awake?" Sam's voice softly asked.

The sound of his voice, letting me realize he truly hadn't left, not only filled me with relief, but made my cock swell even more as I imagined what I had originally planned on doing with him this morning.

"Yeah, I'm up," I said, then grimaced as the double meaning filtered through my erotic haze.

"I'm sure you are," Sam said, as he pushed open the door. He walked in, still wearing his pajamas, carrying a tray of food. I sat up, covering myself (and my raging hard on), and I gave him a questioned look.

"Morning," he said, walking the rest of the way in. "I . . . I made you breakfast in bed."

I changed my questioned look to one of concern.

"Oh, don't worry," he gave as his answer, moving the tray to cover my legs. "It's tradition."

"You make breakfast in bed for your lover as tradition?" I couldn't help but ask.

"No," he said, thwapping my arm in humor. "I've always made myself waffles on New Year's Day, ever since I was five. I decided it would be nice to include you in on it this year."

As I picked up a fork and investigated the food for toxic qualities, I couldn't help but ask, "Since you were five, huh?"

"Yeah. It was the first thing Momgave me permission to make," he started with a smile, taking a bite. "I guess it's pretty difficult to mess up Jiffy Mix, after all. I don't quite remember why it was specifically New Year's that I asked her, but I was so excited that I was able to do it, I remembered it the next year. It just became tradition after that."

I decided to take a chance – after all, he seemed to be eating it without dire effects – and took a bite. It was . . . .

"Not bad," I had to admit. "But I didn't have waffle mix," I subtly probed.

"Well, this was part of my surprise, too," he said with another smile. "I noticed that you didn't have any the other day, and I really wanted to share this with you." He sliced through the stack with his fork and proceeded to offer the bite up to me. I felt my heart (and other organs) swell at the sense of intimacy, and so as a result, I tried making my consumption as erotic as possible. If the shudder I could feel through the fork was evidence, I was definitely successful. As I let my tongue lick the fork as Sam s-l-o-w-l-y pulled it out of my mouth, I could feel him panting in his need.

"Problem, Sam?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Oh, nothing that you can't handle," he squeaked, grabbing my free hand, boldly moving it to his cock. Jeez – the kid was as excited as I was, if not more. Glad the curse hadn't come true (yet, anyway), I let my hand search his pajama bottoms for an opening, as my other hand lifted the tray off my lap and moved it to the side (hey, what can I say? I've had practice of that maneuver!).

I tentatively explored the netherworld within (my, he was a big boy), turning so as to see Sam's face – and gave a throaty chuckle at the visual of him, barely hanging onto the side of the bed, eyes clenched tight in pleasure, mouth slightly agape as he gasped for air.

"You like that, Sam?" I teased (in more ways than one, as I let my index finger trail down the main vein of his cock). "Am I handling your problem appropriately enough?"

Another shudder passed through him, and I moved as much as I could to give him more room on the bed. "God, Al," he whimpered between breaths, "you sure are a problem solver."

I brought my other hand up to his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. As my tongue plunged into his mouth, my hand wrapped itself around his cock, and I felt Sam's groan vibrate against my teeth.

I broke away, gasping for air myself, and gave my own half-mad groan as I saw him, one hand bracing him against the dresser that was on the side of my bed, the other hand still tightly grasping the fork as if it was a lifeline.

His pouty lips, still swollen from the lip lock, just became a Siren song for another one. Well, I'm not one to argue that particular call, so I pulled him back down to me, increasing my stroke as I did. He tried to break away in order to groan again, but I just held him there, wanting to feel the buzz of it once again against my teeth.

I continued to pump his cock, getting the rhythm nice and fast like I enjoyed myself, letting my tongue invade his mouth in similar fashion. He was completely at my mercy, and in a moment of clarity, I realized that's what he was enjoying the most – the willingly giving power and control over to me. Like last night, he was submitting to me. It was probably part of the reason he had fallen in love with me to begin with, because he had to give me control time and again on the leaps. A small part of me became worried at that knowledge – after all, how much of that love would disappear with Bena insisting he needed to regain control over his life?

I felt him shudder once more, feeling him come, watching how the force of it sent him reeling back as he tried arching his back in his pleasure. I couldn't help but wonder what Bena would say to this new 'development' as well. We hadn't said anything to her yet, wanting to figure out where we stood ourselves first. But all thoughts of that were replaced by a set of giggles as the result of his reel sent him completely off the bed, his ass firmly hitting the floor.

"OW! Son of a bitch!" he cried as the pain hit him.

"Well, good morning sunshine," I said through my chuckles.

He ruefully poked at my leg with the fork, which had still somehow stayed in his hand. "So, is this going to be a new tradition?" he asked with a smile.

"Hmm," I pretended to contemplate. "Waffles and hand jobs – what a way to start the year!"

He reached up – I had assumed to pull himself back up on the bed – but what he did actually grab onto wouldn't have given him much leverage. "Well, now," he said, feeling my erection through the sheet, "feels like you have your own problem, Al." Moving his hand in order to sneak it under said sheet, he continued, "I guess tradition dictates reciprocation." I proceeded to lose all sense of coherence as he gave me a hand job that would make Jerry Falwell think twice about homosexuality.

I ended up flat on my back, gazing at the ceiling and panting like I had just ran a marathon. Suddenly, Sam's beautiful face came into view above me. "Happy New Year's, babe," he said, giving me a quick kiss as he finished me off.

If this was gonna be tradition, I couldn't wait 'til next year!

 


End file.
